


Five Times Wilson Takes Vicodin

by Menolly



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menolly/pseuds/Menolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson's experience with Vicodin throughout his life - five times he takes it and one time he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Wilson Takes Vicodin

_The first time_

Jimmy Wilson sits on his bed and hugs his arm to himself. It hurts like nothing he has ever felt before. He tries to cry quietly, to not call out for his mother. He tells himself that Danny didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean to push him away so that he fell. Danny was just a little confused. A little upset. Danny would never really hurt him.

Except that his arm really hurts and the pain isn't stopping. He can't tell Mom and Dad. Danny is always in trouble, Jimmy doesn't want to cause him any more problems. He is Danny's big brother, it's his job to look out for him.

Quietly he gets up and walks down to the bathroom, rifles through the medicine cabinet. He remembers that Dad had some strong pain killers for that time he hurt his foot a couple of months ago. Dad said that they made the pain go right away.

He finds the tablets in a small bottle. Vicodin he reads, 'take only as directed'. He opens the bottle and takes one out, just one. Quickly he swallows it down and waits for the pain to go away.

__

* * *

_The second time_

Wilson spends all Saturday helping House rearrange the furniture in his apartment. It has been a couple of years since Stacy left and House has finally decided to erase her memory from his home. So Wilson moves furniture while House sits and watches.

In the evening he crashes on House's new sofa and spends half the night tossing and turning on the uncomfortable surface, his back protesting. Eventually he spies House's prescription bottle of Vicodin sitting on the coffee table and, looking around guiltily, he pops a couple out of the half full bottle and into his mouth. House won't miss a couple.

After a few minutes numbness creeps up around him, the pain is soothed away and sleep comes easily.

In the morning he wakes to House stomping around loudly looking for the pills. Through bleary morning eyes he watches as House pounces on the bottle, grappling with the lid and popped a couple of tablets into his mouth.

Then House pauses and stares at the bottle, rattling it and examining the contents.

"There's two missing," he announces. His angry gaze turns on Wilson.

"My back hurt after moving your furniture around all day. I took them last night," Wilson confesses. "I didn't think you'd miss them."

He thinks that House will make a joke out of it, mocking him for his weakness, for his self prescribing. House just stares at him, eyes narrowing and fist clenched around the bottle. Without a word he tucks the bottle into his pocket and limps off down the hallway.

Wilson lies back down and stares at the ceiling. There was no mistaking the hunger in House's eyes as he looked at the pills, the way he knew exactly how many pills there should be, the anger he'd shown at the thought of Wilson taking any from him. In that moment he knows the truth.

House is an addict.

* * *

_The third time_

It is purely an accident. He has a massive hangover and stumbles into House's bathroom looking for relief. He rifles through the medicine cabinet and finds some Tylenol, gulps it down. Only afterwards does he look at the bottle again and realise that inside the innocuous Tylenol bottle are Vicodin tablets.

He stumbles into House's bedroom and starts to rant and rave at him. House just grins inanely at the idea of Wilson swallowing down the dreaded Vicodin. He doesn't even care this time that some of his precious pills are gone.

It is only long afterwards, once he is sobered up, that Wilson realises that this means that House has so many pills hidden away that he can afford to be generous.

When Tritter hauls the hundreds of pills out of House's apartment months later Wilson wonders how many the detective missed.

__

* * *

_The fourth time_

After he hangs up on House Wilson clutches the phone to himself for a moment. He misses his friend more than he would ever think possible. By not helping him get out of Mayfield he feels like he is abandoning him. He knows that any hope he has of visiting House has disappeared.

He sits on the bed he once shared with Amber and stares at a small medicine bottle he found a few days ago. House must have hidden it on one of his visits to the apartment. Maybe his way of mocking Wilson, or maybe just part of his hoarding behaviour. Squirrelling away as much Vicodin as he could get his hands on, in case it was ever taken away from him again.

Wilson spills the pills out onto the bedspread. Never has he felt this lonely, this unloved. He longs for Amber to still be alive, to hear her voice, to touch her, just to be with her.

He picks up some tablets between his fingers and stares at them. He thinks of how House had hallucinated Amber, had conversations with her, had walked with her through the halls of the hospital.

He knows that it's ridiculous. That taking the Vicodin isn't going to make Amber magically appear. He knows that. Most of him knows that.

Before he can give himself time to reconsider he takes three of the tablets and swallows them down.

If he doesn't see Amber at least he will make some of his pain go away for a while.

__

* * *

_The fifth time_

He is trying to pay attention to what House is saying but failing. They disconnected the morphine this morning and his body is telling him how violently it objects to having part of an internal organ removed. He shifts slightly in the hospital bed but that only serves to send a further wave of pain through him.

House has stopped his rant and is staring at him, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"You're in pain."

Wilson shrugs, trying to minimise it.

"It's not too bad."

House reaches for the chart and scrutinises it.

"Vicodin, prescribed as needed. When was your last dose?"

Wilson looks away.

"You moron!"

House is up and pacing, he stops and pokes his cane at Wilson.

"You're not taking any? Is that supposed to make the world a better place? If you don't take any Vicodin for your pain? I can't have it so you won't have any? You're an idiot Wilson."

"I thought it might be hard for you, to know I'm taking it," Wilson explains, annoyed that his gesture is being rejected out of hand. "The pain isn't too bad, I thought I could live with it."

For answer House stomps out of the room and returns with a startled nurse in tow.

"Vicodin now!" He points at Wilson and then back at the nurse with the little pill cup.

She hurries forward and puts the cup down in front of Wilson.

"I'm sorry Dr Wilson, you should have said..."

"You can go now," House cuts her off.

When they are alone Wilson takes the pills in his hand and obediently swallows them.

He can't help noticing the look of longing in House's eyes.

__

* * *

_And one time he doesn't_

He lies awake and stares at the ceiling. Tries not to listen to the limping footsteps of his friend. House is in pain, unable to sleep. He is pacing their living area, trying to outrun the pain. Every now and then the footsteps stop and Wilson hopes that he has collapsed into sleep. They always start again.

Wilson rolls over and opens the drawer besides his bed, digs out the little amber vial there. A scant handful of Vicodin tablets, the last of his prescription. He barely needs them now, has only taken one in the last couple of days. He picks out a tablet and holds it between his fingers.

A couple of these would dull House's pain long enough for him to sleep. The torment would stop for tonight. He clasps his fingers around the pill. He knows that it just isn't an option, he can't send either of them down that path again.

He'll get up and go out there. He'll grumble at House, tell him how much he is interrupting his much needed sleep, how House is wearing a hole in the carpet and no doubt annoying the neighbours downstairs with his pacing. House will insult him and mock him. Wilson will make them both some coffee and they'll sit and watch bad television until the sun comes up.

He stops in the bathroom on the way, takes the remaining Vicodin tablets and flushes them.

Affecting his best sleep deprived shamble he goes out to join House.


End file.
